Burnt Matches
by AzureForest
Summary: ... And we all know that they once gave warmth. A young boy searches for solace on a cold Christmas Eve. (A retelling of Hans Christian Andersen's "The Little Match Girl".)


The cold bit into his extremities on that dark, snowy Christmas Eve. Cheer was evident on the passerby's faces as they walked by and paid no mind to the poor boy wandering the streets, looking lost yet perfectly knowing where he was. They wouldn't want their holiday cheer or good conscience stained, spoiled or even ruined. But it wouldn't be much better if they left him to starve.

The child's face and hands were exposed to the frigid air, his bare feet shuffled along in the snow. Shoes? He was sure he had those a while ago, but he couldn't recall when or where he had lost them. Not that it mattered now. He probably lot there somewhere on the streets, and even if he went back to retirever them, they wouldn't be of any use anymore. His small hands, red from the cold, clutched the small bundle of matches he was supposed to be selling, attempting to disspell the numb feeling creeping up on them. All day he shuffled around, attempting to sell at least one of the small sticks, but no one gave him even a penny.

It was futile, he knew that. The little one heaved a sigh, his small frame shuddering, the very image of misery. If only he had a warm house to return to, a loving family around him... But no, his home was just as cold as the outdoors, being run down and worn. His uncle (_caretaker,_ he reminded himself) would beat him for not having sold a single match. Even if he did succeed in coming back with a few meager coins for once, it was never enough. The small amount of money seemed to fall right through their hands, amounting to nothing once again.

But here, he could observe the lights dance around merrily, the snowflakes drifted down to settle in his blond locks, dusting his surroundings in an enchanting white veil. Yes, it was Christmas, the time of happiness, love and giving... But the lights only seemed to taunt him, the laughter resounding from windows telling him of a life he never will live. The poor child was honestly said, jealous.

But somehow, it comforted him all the same.

It reminded him that happiness still existed.

Just not where he was.

He longed for the warmth.

But... Perhaps... Perhaps he could make do? One match couldn't possibly hurt...

A shaky hand picked out one, careful not to drop it in the snow and render it unusable. _Ritsch. _A small flame spluttered to life in his hands, warming them. Oh, how wonderful it felt. He closed his blue eyes as he imagined a roaring fireplace...

The orange flames crackled merrily, beckoning him closer to its light, its warmth. The way each wisp licked at the logs, the way the wood became white with ash... It felt like it was offering a home, some vague feeling of comfort and warmth. He reached out to warm his hands, shivering-

And the match went out.

Longing for more, he lit another one without hesitation, the light dancing around in his hands. The light made the cold brick walls around him melt away, the interior of the brightly lit houses now clearly visible. The families laughed, every last one of them were happy. Smiling and laughing, telling stories and sharing dinner- The smell of freshly-baked bread, cookies and pastries was inviting, willing for him to come closer, the aroma of roast meat doing the same, but not quite as much as the merry smiles, the sense of belonging. He fancied that he _did_ belong to them, that he was a part of their camaraderie. As he watched, a black-haired boy with a lopsided cap and an equally lopsided grin spotted him and began walking over to the poor match boy. The ravenets mouth moved, but no sound came, and he extended his hand to help the other up, to invite him as well.

Just as he was about to accept the hand, the match flickered and died, the boy with the cap obscured from sight by a grey wall, the light fading into darkness, leaving the blond to wonder whether he had been real. Regardless, he struck another.

And from this one, a glorious burst of light came forth, branching out in tendrils of heavenly illumination, weaving, dancing, twirling, until a dazzling golden Christmas tree gleamed softly before him. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld- Even more so than the tree standing in the square, the sight of pure white snow lying on the ground untouched or the windows covered by a thin layer of frost, creating endlessly intricate patterns. The stars in the sky became the ornaments upon the branches, and the angel at the very top smiled down at him, messy brown hair swept aside by the wind.

Kind azure eyes and pristine white wings, too, disappeared in an instant as the boy's match died once more. And in the heavens above, a single star fell, leaving a long trail of fire in its wake.

_Someone must be dying._ He thought to himself as he saw the streak disappear- For the star had fallen from its place from the heavens... To retrieve? Or simply to fall from its place over the heavens? The blond could only wonder why, but perhaps a soul was ascending to the galaxies and beyond, into the arms of their ancestors, their loved ones who had already departed, to be reunited once more, as his brother had always believed. To ascend, just as his brother had.

Shivering at the thought, he dragged another match against the brick wall, lighting it and letting another small tongue of flame come to life- And in the glow, his brother stood, hazy, but there, looking as lively as he had been, once, all those years ago. Perhaps he had been that shooting star. Perhaps he had been the one for his brother to retrieve- And dearly wishing that this was true, the boy cried out, reaching towards the already fading form of the other.

"D-don't... Don't go! Please, take me with you! I don't want you to disappear... Not like everything, everyone else!"

_"Claus!"_

Realising that his flame was about to go out, the blond boldly took all of his matches and struck them, not caring anymore what his uncle would think if he ever came back, the hazy image becoming clearer than ever, glowing and engulfing the two in warmth. The blond reached out as Claus did, the other catching him just as the former was about to fall with a light, carefree laugh.

"_It's okay, Lucas. I'm right here. Let's go home."_

Finally, Lucas relaxed and cracked a smile. It had been too long since he had heard the others voice. And then, seeing how tired he had been all this time, he let his eyes fall closed as he drifted off, away from reality, to fall into a neverending dream of hope, joy and warmth, to play in the fields of sunflowers and relive the childhood that he had never gotten to live. Together with his mother, his father, his brother- Everybody.

Not alone. Loved.

_Together._

* * *

><p>"Good gods, there's a child here!"<p>

"Is he alright?"

"Oh no..."

If one were to push through the crowd now, one would see a young boy resting against the wall, barefoot and cold, eyes closed and a small smile on his lips, a bundle of burnt matches clutched in his left hand and more strewn around him. Upon closer observation, it would become apparent that the child, indeed, had perished of the cold and hunger gnawing away at him, the falling snow beginning to coat him in a thin white veil. A young blunet man knelt down in front of the boy to look over him, before turning around to the people behind him and shaking his head, sorrow reflected in his cobalt eyes. A small gasp was heard.

"He tried to warm himself." he murmured, before gently picking up the body, the matches once clutched in the boy's limp hands falling from his grip and scattering.

Noone but the matches would ever know the wonders the young boy had seen, the haven he resided in now.

Nobody would ever know.


End file.
